


zoom/click

by alotofthingsdifferent



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, Photography, Roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-30
Updated: 2016-04-30
Packaged: 2018-06-03 14:52:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6614926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alotofthingsdifferent/pseuds/alotofthingsdifferent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom turns his head just slightly, as if he’s following something outside, and without thinking, Mike snaps a photo.  It’s off-center, and the ugly lamp on their side table doesn’t belong in the shot.</p><p>Tom turns over his shoulder and smiles. “I really love this view,” he says.</p><p><i>Yeah,</i> Mike thinks, returning Tom’s smile.  <i>Me too</i>.</p><p>(He keeps the photo. That’s where it begins.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	zoom/click

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thermocline](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thermocline/gifts).



> Thank you to my lovely beta, whose name I will add here after reveals, and to the other people who helped me come up with this idea!
> 
> SRP, I hope you like it!

“Are you sure I can’t convince you to stay?” Mike asks from where he’s leaning against the doorframe of Andre’s bedroom. “Finding a new roommate is gonna be a real pain in the ass.”

Andre laughs, ripping a piece of packing tape off with his teeth and sticking it to a box marked **RANDOM** in black block letters. “You’re right,” he says over his shoulder. “Who else will put up with the piles of dirty laundry you leave around?”

Mike pulls a face, but he can’t help but return Andre’s grin. He pushes off the frame and into the room, nudging his shoulder against Andre’s and grabbing the packing tape from the bed. “I’m gonna miss you, man,” he admits as he tapes the last of Andre’s boxes shut. They’ve been living together for almost two years now, since Mike moved out of the dorms and Andre was looking for a roommate, but Andre took a job as a live-in nanny for the cutest kid Mike’s ever met in his life, and Mike’s two-bedroom suddenly got a whole lot bigger.

Mike’s happy for him -- Andre’s fantastic with kids, and the job has enough flexibility that he can still finish his degree --and he knows they’ll see each other a lot. They plan to have dinner at least once a week, and there’s no way Mike’s going to let Andre have Maisey all to himself, but he’s gotten used to having Andre around, and he doesn’t know if he’ll like living alone.

“I know you can afford it on your own,” Andre says when they’re carrying boxes out to his car. It’s true-- Mike worked hard at his weekend job in high school and saved every penny he earned, including birthday money and his graduation gifts, and between that and the small salary he earns at his job on campus, he doesn’t really need anyone to split the rent. “But you like being around people,” Andre adds.

Mike shrugs. “Seems like a lot of work. It was easy with you, I knew what I was getting myself into.”

Andre shoves at his shoulder. “You just liked me because I cooked for you.” 

Mike grins, his hands resting on the driver’s side door where Andre has the window rolled down. “That was definitely on my ‘pro’ list,” he says, and jumps back with a laugh when Andre starts rolling the window up. 

“I’ll see you in a few days,” Andre promises, and Mike gives him a small wave, shoving his hands in his back pockets and watching Andre’s car until it turns the corner, out of sight. 

The apartment is too quiet without him.

**

“I have a buddy who’s looking for a place,” Andre mentions off -handedly later in the week, when they’re sitting at Mike’s kitchen table eating spaghetti. 

“I know all your buddies,” Mike says around a mouthful of noodles. “And none of them are living with me.”

Andre sticks his tongue out like the child that he is, and Mike kicks him under the table. “It’s a guy from the rink I take Maisey to on Wednesday mornings. He’s an instructor, he’s teaching her to skate.”

“Okay,” Mike says slowly. “Is he a serial killer?”

Andre laughs. “I don’t think so,” he says. “He doesn’t look like one. Want me to see if he’s interested?”

Mike shrugs, chewing and swallowing the bite of garlic bread in his mouth. “I dunno,” he says. “Wouldn’t it be weird? Some dude I don’t even know, moving in here?” 

Andre rolls his eyes and tosses a balled-up napkin at Mike from across the table. “People do it all the time. Have you heard of Craigslist?” 

“Yeah,” Mike says, appalled. “I’ve also heard about people getting murdered after putting ads on there.”

Andre mutters something in Swedish, and Mike kicks him again. “He’s not going to murder you,” Andre promises. “Actually, I think you’ll like him. He’s pretty easy to get along with.” 

Mike hums in consideration before giving in, agreeing to let Andre pass his number along. 

“It’ll be good,” Andre says with a grin, and he sounds so sure that Mike can’t help but believe him.

**

His phone pings a few days later, a text from an unknown number. _hi, is this mike? this is tom._

Mike racks his brain, but can’t remember meeting anyone named Tom lately. Before he has to ask, though, another message pops up. _andre’s buddy, from the rink._

 _Oh hey_ , he replies, and Tom sends back a smiley-face emoji. 

_burkie said you might be looking for a roommate? i’m looking for a place closer to work, my lease is up_

Mike hesitates for a minute. He doesn’t know anything about this guy. Should he really be considering letting him move in? It’d be nice to have someone share the rent, but what if this guy is a slob, or hooks up all the time, or is always late on the bills? 

_I think you’ll like him,_ he hears Andre’s voice echoing in his head. 

_yeah man, lemme know when you want to come take a look._ he sends, on the spur of the moment, before he can talk himself out of it. 

He really hopes he doesn’t regret this.

**

They spend the next couple days exchanging casual texts. Tom asks questions about the apartment, like what his share of the utilities will be, and Mike, in turn, grills him about his income, just to be safe. (He can’t imagine Tom’s pulling in the big bucks as a skating instructor, but maybe he’s wrong. )

 _no worries there_ , Tom texts. _i bartend three or four times a week. killer tips._

It satisfies Mike, and they set up a time for Tom to come over and check the place out. 

**

Two days later, Mike finds himself vacuuming, dusting, and doing laundry like it’s his job. He even cleans out the blob of ketchup that’s been stuck to the refrigerator shelf for months and lights the vanilla-scented candle that’s been collecting dust on the bookcase in the living room. 

He’s just finished scrubbing the bathroom sink (when was the last time he did that? He can’t even remember) when his phone starts buzzing in his back pocket. He yanks off his rubber gloves and swipes the screen to answer. 

“Hi,” comes a staticky voice on the other end of the line. “It’s Tom. Wilson. Burkie’s friend. I’m outside?”

“Hey, yeah, I’ll buzz you in,” Mike says, pressing the pound key to buzz Tom in before hanging up and shoving the rubber gloves in the cabinet under the sink. The bathtub is a mess at the moment, but that can’t be helped -- he has a project due Monday, and the darkroom on campus was booked, so he had to make due with some hastily-strung wires and a dark towel covering the window. He’s just lucky it’s a black and white assignment. Developing color film at home is a pain in the ass.

A few minutes later, there’s a knock at the door, so Mike takes one last glance around the apartment before letting Tom in.

He doesn’t know what he was expecting Ande’s friend to look like, but whatever it was, this far exceeds it. Tom’s tall and broad-shouldered, with dark hair that falls in his eyes and curls just the slightest bit around his neck. His eyes are very, very blue, and he’s smiling at Mike. When Tom clears his throat nervously, Mike realizes he hasn’t said anything yet.

“Hi,” he says quickly, holding out his hand, to offer Tom a firm, friendly handshake. Tom has big hands; Mike tries not to think about it. “I’m Mike. Nice to meet you.”

“Tom,” Tom says, and at least he’s still smiling, Mike thinks, so hopefully that means he didn’t make it weird by checking Tom out before they’d even officially met.

“Come in, come in,” Mike says, stepping back and waving his arm in invitation. Tom shoves his hands in his pockets and takes one long stride into the apartment, stopping in the entryway to look around. Mike forces himself to look away and closes the door, hovering awkwardly behind Tom. “So this is the place,” he says, as Tom looks over his shoulder and grins. 

“You gonna give me a tour?” Tom asks.

“Oh,” Mike replies, a little surprised. He figured Tom would just look around, take a peek in the bedroom, and check yes or no. “Sure, yeah, of course.”

Tom follows him into the kitchen, and Mike waves a hand around. “It’s pretty roomy, lots of cabinet space,” he explains, as if Tom can’t see that for himself. After that, it seems natural to open the fridge door to show Tom the inside. 

“Do you own stock in Heinz?” Tom asks with a smirk, nodding at the five full bottles of Ketchup lining the refrigerator door.

“Inside joke,” Mike tells him, closing the door before Tom can notice the overwhelming amount of takeout Mike consumes. 

“It’s a pretty great view,” he says, when they’re standing in front of the large window in the living room. They can see the city skyline from here; it’s one of Mike’s favorite things about the apartment, especially at night.

“Do you have Netflix?” Tom asks, turning his attention to the big screen TV Mike has mounted on the wall. Mike scoffs and rolls his eyes, mock-offended. 

“Please,” he says, then spends the next ten minutes showing Tom his setup. 

“You have six Playstation remotes,” Tom says dreamily. “I only have one, and the joystick is hanging on by a thread.” 

“Well, if you decide to move in, they’re yours too,” Mike says, and Tom beams at him. 

“Where do I sign?”

Mike laughs and gets to his feet from where they’re crouched in front of the game console. “Maybe you should check out the rest of the apartment first. The closet space isn’t the best.”

Tom follows him down the hall, and they check out the bedroom that’ll be his if he signs the lease. He seems satisfied, but before he can go into the bathroom, Mike puts his arm across the door frame, blocking his way.

“I have to warn you,” he says. “I’m a photography major, so sometimes, uh -- well, the bathroom can be messy,” he finishes. “I promise it’s not all the time, and you’ll always get first shower.” 

“Andre told me you take pictures,” Tom says, pushing his way around Mike’s arm into the bathroom. While Mike stands in the doorway watching, Tom pulls the shower curtain back carefully, revealing the line of photos drying over the tub. 

“What else did Andre tell you?” he asks, watching as Tom leans in to get a closer look. 

“That you’re really good at it,” Tom says, still studying the photographs. He’s bent down with his hands on his knees, his eyes focused on the picture Mike took at the rink when he flew home to Ontario a couple weeks back, as the sun was setting and everyone was clearing out. It’s one of Mike’s favorites -- the glitter of sharp lines from the cuts of skate blades, a puck standing on its edge, shadowed by the sunset. 

“I’m not that --”

“And that you’re way too modest,” Tom interrupts with a grin. He points at the photo he was just admiring. “This is awesome, man. Really cool. I didn’t know people used film anymore.”

“Thanks,” Mike says sheepishly, hoping that the heat he feels in his face isn’t showing in the form of a blush. “It’s a lost art. I mean, i work in digital, too, but there’s just something about watching a photo develop from a negative, y’know?” Tom smiles warmly as he moves the shower curtain back into place, dragging his fingertips over the countertop as he makes his way back into the hall. 

“So where’s your room?” he asks, and does he ever stop smiling, Mike wonders?

“Uh,” Mike says, palming the back of his neck. “Across the hall there.” He nods in the direction of his room, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. The rest of the apartment might be spotless, but Mike figured there’d be no reason for Tom to see his room, so his sheets are crumpled in a pile at the end of his bed and there are clothes all over the floor. 

Tom grins at him. “Is it a mess?”

“What? No!” Mike insists, but Tom is laughing, and he knows he’s busted.

“No big deal,” Tom says, his blue, blue eyes twinkling when they meet Mike’s. “Maybe I can see it next time.”

“Next time?” Mike asks, and he really hopes his face isn’t giving away too much. 

“Yeah,” Tom says. “Say, on moving day?”

And just like that, Mike has a new roommate.

**

“So how’s it going with Tom?” Andre asks, smiling when Maisey hums happily at his side. She’s got one tiny hand in each of theirs, swinging between them while they walk to the park. Mike’s free between classes, and even though the weather’s still cold enough for the Potomac to be frozen in some parts, the sun is shining today, and the fresh air feels good on their faces. 

“Good,” Mike admits, and he can hear the surprise in his own voice. The truth is, he and Tom get along great. He’d expected it to be weird, having a virtual stranger move in with him, but on the day Tom moved in a few weeks earlier, he brought sandwiches from Earl’s and a six-pack of Mike’s favorite beer (Mike suspected Andre assisted on that one), and they quickly fell into an easy friendship that Mike found himself really enjoying. “He’s cool.”

“Cool,” Andre parrots, and Mike can hear the smirk in his voice. “You have nothing else to say? Nothing about, oh, I don’t now. How _hot_ he is?”

Mike feels his cheeks go warm, and he throws Andre a glare, glancing down at Maisey skipping between them. “Shut up,” he says between gritted teeth, as Andre laughs brightly.

“Maisey-girl,” Andre says, and she looks up and him, her pigtails bouncing. “Tell Mike about Mr. Tom.”

She grins, and her whole face lights up. “He’s the bestest ice skater I’ve ever known,” she says, and then, in a dramatic whisper with wide eyes, she adds, “and he is really, _really_ cute.”

Mike barks out a laugh and ducks down to sweep Maisey off her feet. He settles her against his hip and tickles her side while she squeals in delight. “You’re something else, Miss Maisey,” he says. She grins at him before puckering a kiss to the tip of his nose.

“So are you, Mr. Mike,” she says. He sets her down when they reach the park, watching as she scurries away to go climb the slide.

Andre leans into him and crosses his arms over his chest. “So,” he says, in a knowing tone. 

Mike heaves a sigh.“Fine, whatever. He’s really hot.”

When Andre gives a victorious whoop, Mike pretends not to notice. 

**

Mike’s sitting at the kitchen table messing with his lenses when Tom wanders into the kitchen, knuckling his eyes and yawning sleepily. “Is there coffee?” he grumbles, raising his arms above his head in a long stretch that makes his tank top go tight around his ribs. Mike tries not to notice the ripple of his abs, turning his attention back to his equipment. 

“Of course, lazy,” Mike quips, and before Tom can even ask, he adds, “and no, I will not pour you a cup.”

He doesn’t even have to look up to know that Tom’s pouting, and it makes a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. He hates to admit it, but Tom is adorable when he’s grumping around the apartment on the mornings he has to work early at the rink when he worked late at the bar the night before. 

Tom clatters around in the cupboards, and when Mike looks up again, Tom ambles past him into the living room, stopping in front of the window to stare outside. Mike clicks one of his lenses back in place to test the focus, and when he looks through the viewfinder, he sees Tom framed there, the early morning light dancing on the pale skin of his broad, bare shoulders. His elbows are resting at his sides, and from this angle, Mike can just barely see the coffee cup cradled in his hands.

Tom turns his head just slightly, as if he’s following something outside, and without thinking, Mike snaps a photo. It’s off-center, and the ugly lamp on their side table doesn’t belong in the shot.

Tom turns over his shoulder and smiles. “I really love this view,” he says.

 _Yeah,_ Mike thinks, returning Tom’s smile. _Me too_.

(He keeps the photo. That’s where it begins.)

**

“She’s getting really good,” Mike says to Andre as he slides into the bleacher space next to him, shoving a hot cup of coffee in his direction. 

Andre’s grin is so proud that anyone who didn’t know him would assume Maisey was _his_ , not just the kid he takes care of. “She works hard,” he says, “and Tom is a great teacher.” Mike turns his attention back to the ice, where Tom’s standing in the middle of a circle of small children, their hands linked and their eyes glued to him.

“Huh,” he says. “What?” he adds when Andre looks at him with one eyebrow raised.

“You sound... surprised,” Andre says, and Mike laughs a little, pressing his lips to the plastic lid on his coffee cup, and blowing lightly to cool the liquid down.  
“Nah, it’s not that,” he says, and it’s not a lie, really. Tom’s a great guy -- he’s funny and smart and easy to get along with, but he’s also loud and sloppy and sometimes a little immature (he’s the biggest fart-joke fan Mike’s ever met). Mike never really took the time to consider that he might be good with kids. “You want me to get some shots of her?” Mike asks, hoping the subject change is subtle enough that Andre won’t press him. 

He doesn’t wait for Andre to answer, just turns the camera on Maisey gliding down the ice, her knees wobbling and a grin splitting her face. He snaps a few shots of her smile, even gets one of her facing the camera full-on, her cheeks rosy and her eyes dancing as she waves wildly at Andre. 

When Tom enters the shot, Mike freezes, his finger hovering over the shutter release. He can see Tom’s mouth moving and watches the gestures he’s making at the kids, who are all watching him with rapt attention. It’s only natural that the camera stays on Tom as he leads the kids in a game of follow the leader, eight little legs trying to keep up with the long, strong strides Tom’s making. _Click_. 

Tom looks over his shoulder, does a quick spin on his blades, and claps in encouragement as each of the kids follows suit. _Click click_. 

“Mike!” Andre says suddenly, and it’s only then that Mike realizes Andre’s been talking to him this whole time. He puts the camera down quickly, grateful for the scarf that’s covering the flush on the back of his neck.

“Huh?” Mike asks. “Sorry, I got caught up watching Maisey.”

“Sure you did,” Andre says knowingly, and Mike scowls at him. “How many pictures of Tommy do you have on there anyway?” He grabs at Mike’s camera and Mike bats his hands away, heart racing.

“Get out of here, dick!” he says through a laugh. “This is expensive equipment!” It’s the truth, but it’s not the reason his stuff is off-limits. 

If Andre got a hold of his memory card, Mike would have a whole lot of explaining to do.

Because the thing is... Mike has a _lot_ of pictures of Tom: 

Tom dozing on the couch, his mouth half open and one foot sticking out from underneath the blanket thrown over his legs. 

Tom laughing so hard at a movie he was watching that there are tears glistening in the corners of his eyes, his whole face split with his grin. 

Tom behind the bar, leaning over to swipe a rag over a wet circle left there by the glass of the last patron, his biceps bulging under his tight shirtsleeves and his hair falling in his eyes. 

And Mike’s favorite -- Tom spread out along the length of the couch, his feet crossed at the ankles and sunlight spilling over his shins. He’d been working on a crossword, which Mike found endlessly endearing to begin with, and he was chewing intently on the end of his pencil, his brow furrowed in concentration. “Hey Latts,” he’d asked, not taking his eyes from the paper he was holding in front of his face. “What’s a five-letter word for Greek cheeses?” 

“Fetas,” Mike said, and when Tom’s face lit up, Mike snapped the picture.

It’s probably creepy, Mike tells himself later that night, when he’s doing some editing of the pictures he took of Maisey at the rink. The majority of the photos he has -- both film and digital -- are of Tom, and save for the one time Tom caught him (and made a dumb face at the camera, crossing his eyes and sticking out his tongue), Tom is completely oblivious to the fact that Mike is constantly taking his picture.

It’s definitely creepy, he decides, and It’s only when he double-clicks on the folder titled “Project T” that he realizes he has a problem. 

_can you come over?_ Mike texts Andre. _i need to talk._ He holds his breath when the typing dots show up on his display. 

_where’s tommy?_

_work_ , Mike replies. _it’s cool if you’re busy._

 _be there in ten_ , comes the reply. Mike is immediately so glad he has Andre in his life. 

He’s glad, that is, until Andre looks over his shoulder from where he’s scrolling through all the photos on Mike’s computer and says, “Uh, you realize you’re in love with Tommy, right?”

Mike sputters, his face going hot. “I am not!” he says defensively, and Andre gives him a l _look_. “I’m _not_ ,” he insists. “I just -- he’s a good subject!”

“Is that so,” Andre says, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms over his chest. “Tell me why.”

Mike waves his arms dramatically, sitting down on the edge of his bed. “He’s got a very strong jawline,” he explains. “And the light is always hitting him just right. He has a great smile, and his eyes are really blue, so the camera always picks that up really well.”

“Mmhmm,” Andre says. “Go on.”

“He has nice shoulders,” Mike says, and his mind drifts back to a few nights ago, when he and Tom were sharing a bowl of popcorn on the couch, a blanket slung over their legs and a hockey game on TV. There was plenty of room for them to spread out, but when Mike stood in the space between the kitchen and the living room, holding the popcorn and two beers, Tom had patted the spot next to him and lifted the blanket up in invitation, and Mike just went, no question. He sank into the cushion next to Tom and tried not to think about how warm and solid Tom was next to him, or how nice it felt to have Tom’s shoulder pressed up against his own. “And he’s really good with kids, y’know?” Mike goes on. “Maisey loves him, all those kids do, and he’s so patient with them. And he’s funny, right? We laugh a lot, and he’s really helpful around the apartment, and -- “ He stops himself when he realizes that Andre is looking at him with a very smug smile on his face.

“You see?” he says gently, and Mike’s shoulders slump in resignation. None of the things he just told Andre have anything to do with Tom taking a good picture. He runs both hands through his hair and leans forward, his knees on his elbows. 

“Fuck,” he huffs. “What am I gonna do?”

“You could start by telling him,” Andre says.

Mike shakes his head quickly. “And say what? ‘Hey buddy, sorry I’ve been secretly taking pictures of you for a couple months, I know it’s probably creepy, but I think I’m in love with you?’ Yeah, that’ll go over well.”

Andre laughs and rolls his eyes. “I was thinking more like asking him on a date, but that works too.”

“I can’t,” Mike says, rubbing at his face. “He’s my _roommate_ , Burkie, I can’t just --”

“Why can’t you? You already know what he’s like, right? You’ve lived with him for a few months now, you know his bad habits and you still like him.”

Mike shrugs, then falls back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. “But what if he says no, and then we still have to live together? Or what if he says no, is totally freaked, and moves out?”

Mike feels the bed dip when Andre sits down. He puts a hand on Mike’s knee and shakes his leg a little. “I don’t think you have to worry about that,” he says. “Even if he doesn’t want to date you, he’s not gonna move out.” He pauses for a minute, then squeezes Mike’s knee. “But I think he probably wants to date you.”

Mike tosses an arm out to hit at Andre. “Shut up,” he mumbles. “You know nothing.”

Andre grins, bright and devious. “I know he has a birthday coming up in a week,” he says.. 

“Yeah,” Mike says slowly, sitting up on his elbows. “I know.”

“So,” Andre says, nodding in the direction of Mike’s computer, where Tom’s face is filling the screen. “Find a way to tell him that doesn’t make you look like a stalker.” He manages to jump out of the way before Mike can punch him in the leg. “You’ve got a creative mind, Latts,” he says, tapping two fingers against Mike’s temple. “Use it.”

**

Later, after Mike has unloaded the dishwasher and folded a load of laundry and is relaxing on the couch with a beer, his phone buzzes on the side table. 

_off in 20. Want wings?_ Mike can’t help but smile, a warm fondness blooming in his chest. The bar where Tom works has the best teriyaki wings in town, and Tom knows how much Mike loves them.

 _sounds great. You’re the best_ , Mike replies. 

When Tom sends back a kissy-face emoji, Mike’s mind is made up. He gets up from the couch and makes his way to his room, settling in front of this computer. 

Tom’s birthday is in a week, and he has a lot of work to do.

**

“Do you have birthday plans?” Mike asks, as casually as he can, three days before Tom’s birthday. Tom shrugs one shoulder from his spot on the couch, where he’s playing NHL15 on the Playstation, the tip of his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth.

“Not really,” he says. “Some buddies asked if I wanted to go out, so I might do that.”

“Oh,” Mike says, trying not to feel too disappointed. He’s met a few of Tom’s friends, and they seem like good guys, but it’s not like they run in the same circles, and Mike wasn’t invited anyway.

“Why?” Tom asks, his attention still on the game. “You throwin’ me a party?” 

Mike can hear the smile in his voice, and he suddenly wishes he could answer yes to the question. “Yeah, it’s a surprise, don’t tell anyone,” he says instead, and Tom laughs, throwing an arm in the air when his team scores. He pauses the game and turns towards Mike, one leg tucked up underneath him. He’s wearing shorts, and they slip up high on his thigh. Mike tries not to look at the smooth, pale skin that disappears under the hem.

“You could come out with us,” Tom offers. “I think Burkie might go, if he can get the night off, so it’s not like you wouldn’t know anyone.”

Mike considers it, then thinks about the gift he has tucked under his bed. He was hoping to give it to Tom over breakfast on his birthday, but if it doesn’t go the way he’s hoping, it’ll be awkward to go and hang out with Tom and all his friends. “Sure,” he says anyway. “Sounds like fun.” Tom grins at him, and Mike’s stomach somersaults. 

“Awesome,” he says, holding up a controller in Mike’s direction. “Now c’mon. You owe me a rematch from last night.”

Just a couple more days, Mike thinks as he grabs the controller from Tom’s hand. 

Just a couple more days.

**  
The morning of Tom’s birthday, Mike’s up early. He paces his room for a few minutes before pulling Tom’s gift out from under his bed. It’s a bound portfolio with a selection of pictures Mike’s taken of Tom, pages of photos that capture all of Mike’s favorite things about him. There’s a card, too, where Mike’s scrawled, _I know this is super cheesy, but I think you’re ‘picture perfect’. Go out with me?_ He has a speech planned, an explanation for taking all the pictures without Tom’s knowledge, and his stomach is in knots just thinking about it. 

He tosses the book on the bed next to him and heads down the hallway to start a pot of coffee before grabbing a towel from the linen closet and getting in the shower. He washes his hair slowly, lets the hot water run over his shoulders and down his back. He thinks about Tom, and like always, he goes warm all over. Fuck, he’s got it bad, and he knows he’s taking a big risk by telling Tom how he feels. 

“No risk, no reward,” Andre had told him the day before, when Mike was panicking about actually going through with it. Mike knows he’s right. He just wishes he knew how Tom was going to react.

He finishes the rest of his shower quickly and dries off, swiping his hand over the mirror to get rid of the condensation before brushing his teeth and pulling on a pair of sweats. When he steps into the hall, he notices that Tom’s door is open, and his stomach swoops with nerves. Should he give Tom the book now and get it over with? Should he wait until after they get home tonight, when Tom might be a little drunk and less likely to yell at Mike for being a weirdo?

His heart stops in his chest when he realizes Tom’s already made the decision for him. Because when Mike walks down the hall, he catches sight of Tom in his room, sitting on his bed with the book in his lap. This is not good, Mike thinks. This is not good, and he’s going to throw up, and -- 

Tom raises his eyes to the hall. They’re wide with wonder and so, so blue. 

“Uh,” Mike tries, one hand still on the towel he was using to dry his hair. He thinks about yelling at Tom for invading his privacy, but then remembers he really doesn’t have any room to talk. “It’s not what you think.”

Tom blinks, then drops his eyes back to the book, his fingertips trailing over the pages open on his legs. 

“Tom,” Mike starts, and takes a steadying breath as he walks into the room. “I was going to explain.”

Tom licks his lips and closes the book, folding his hands over the cover. “Is it for me?” Tom asks. He doesn’t sound mad, Mike realizes with relief. 

“Yeah, uh,” Mike says, palming the back of his neck nervously. “Happy Birthday?”

Tom chuckles softly. “You made me a book of pictures of myself for my birthday? What, you think I’m an egomaniac or something?”

“No!” Mike says quickly. “No, I mean yes, I mean -- “ He takes another breath and sits down next to Tom, close enough that he can feel his body heat but not close enough that they’re touching. “I don’t think you’re an egomaniac,” he says. “I think -- uh, I think --” He clears his throat, and his knee bounces nervously. He goes completely still when Tom puts a hand there, his fingers hot through the fabric of Mike’s sweats. 

“Talk to me, bud.”

“I’m sorry,” is what Mike leads with, because it feels like the right thing to say. “That I was taking your picture all the time, without you knowing. The first time was kind of an accident? And then I just -- couldn’t stop.”

“How come?” Tom asks, and Mike has never heard his voice sound so quiet. 

“Because,” Mike says, and finally manages to look at Tom. “Look at you. You’re --” He swallows, and Tom squeezes his knee. “You’re gorgeous, Tommy, you know you are.”

Tom ducks his head, but Mike can make out the shy smile in his profile. 

“I guess I just -- wanted you to see yourself like I see you,” Mike concludes.

“And how’s that?” Tom asks.

“Happy,” Mike says. “And kind. Funny and smart, and really good with kids.”

“Stop it,” Tom says, covering his face with one hand to hide his smile. 

“Sorry,” Mike says, and scoots a little closer, closing the small bit of space between them. “But it’s all true. I dunno, Tommy, somewhere between the time you moved in and now, I kinda fell for you. Big time.” It’s as honest as Mike can get, and his heart pounds in his chest as he waits for Tom to say something, _anything_.

“You really think I’m funny?” Tom asks, and Mike lets out a surprised laugh, shoving at Tom’s shoulder.

“Shut up, you know you --” The words catch in his throat when Tom wraps his fingers around Mike’s wrist, then tugs lightly, guiding Mike’s hand to the side of his neck. Mike spreads his fingers over Tom’s skin, drags the pad of his thumb over the the hollow of Tom’s throat. Tom’s fingers are still on his wrist, and Mike’s getting a little lost in Tom’s eyes. 

“What’s the card say?” Tom asks, and Mike blinks at him.

“Huh?”

Tom smiles warmly and squeezes Mike’s wrist. Mike’s too busy thinking about how soft Tom’s hair feels against his fingertips to hear what Tom’s saying. They’re so close he can feel Tom’s breath on his face, and his heart is racing. 

“The card,” Tom says. “That one next to me on the bed, with my name on the envelope?” He’s not looking at the envelope, though. He’s looking right at Mike.

Mike’s eyes drop to Tom’s mouth, and he moves his hand to cup Tom’s jaw. When Tom’s eyelashes flutter against his cheeks, Mike leans in and brushes his nose against Tom’s. “It’s really cheesy,” he whispers, and Tom’s grip on his wrist tightens as Mike’s lips touch his cheek. 

“Mike,” Tom says, and it sounds so much like a plea that Mike has to kiss him then. Tom’s mouth is warm and soft under his, and when his lips part on a sigh, Mike brings his other hand up, cradling Tom’s face as he deepens the kiss. 

When they finally break apart, Mike rests his forehead against Tom’s. Tom’s eyes are still closed, and Mike’s hand drops to his shoulder, his fingers trailing down Tom’s to his elbow, drawing gentle circles on the soft skin in the crook of Tom’s arm.

“Happy Birthday,” Mike murmurs, and Tom grins, sitting up straighter and meeting Mike’s eyes. “I hope I didn’t make it weird.” Tom hasn’t said anything about Mike’s confession, not really, but he thinks Tom kissing him back is a good sign.

Tom’s ripping the card open before Mike can stop him, and when he starts reading it aloud, Mike’s face goes hot, and he buries it in his hands. 

“Aww, Latts,” Tom says, his voice light and teasing. “Who knew you were such a sap?”

“Shut up,” Mike mumbles into his hands, but he can’t stop himself from smiling at how happy Tom sounds. 

“Hey,” Tom says, and tugs on Mike’s hands, pulling them way from his face. “You mean it? You really wanna take me out?”

“I mean, I wanna do more than take you out,” Mike says, and when Tom waggles his eyebrows, Mike swats at him, rolling his eyes. “Stop it, I mean I wanna date you, man. That other stuff too, yeah,” he says, and he knows his cheeks are red, but he doesn’t care. “But I don’t wanna just be friends. Not anymore.”

“You askin’ me to be your boyfriend?” Tom asks. He’s still got that wide grin on his face.

“I’m asking you to give me a chance, yeah,” Mike says simply, and Tom hums thoughtfully. Mike watches as he puts the book aside, then stands up and leaves the room. Before Mike has a chance to panic, Tom pokes his head back around the door. 

“I’ll be right back,” he says. “Don’t move.”

When he comes back, he’s holding one of Mike’s smaller easy-shoot cameras in his hand. Mike looks at him, questioning, and Tom sits down next to him again, just as close as he was before. He presses his lips to Mike’s cheek in an exaggerated kiss before holding the camera up in front of them and taking a picture. 

“What was that for?” Mike asks, as Tom leans over to set the camera on Mike’s bedside table. 

“Figured we could start a new chapter in our book,” Tom says, and Mike groans at the pun. Tom pinches his side. “Hey, you called me picture perfect, you gotta let me have that one.”

“Fine,” Mike agrees, and he feels giddy with excitement, fighting to keep the goofy smile off his face. Before he can say anything else, Tom’s kissing him again. He closes his eyes when Tom’s mouth moves down his jaw to his neck, his teeth scraping over Mike’s skin. 

“What else did you get me for my birthday?” Tom asks, his breath hot against Mike’s ear. “A blowjob maybe?” Mike swallows hard and goes easily when Tom gets one big hand on his shoulder, easing him onto his back.

“Sure,” Mike manages, but he’s too distracted by Tom’s lips on his collarbone to come up with anything other than, “Yeah, Tom, whatever you want.” He’s breathless when Tom’s fingers dip into the waistband of his sweats, and then he stops thinking at all.

**

They arrive at the bar to a chorus of “happy birthday”s from Tom’s friends. Mike recognizes a couple of them, but the rest are new faces, and Mike watches as Tom says hello to them, all shoulder-clapping hugs and grins. Andre’s there, and Tom envelopes him in a bear hug while Andre winks at Mike over Tom’s shoulder. Mike hangs back until Tom turns to him and motions him over. He slides an arm around Mike’s waist, his fingers tight around Mike’s ribs.

“Guys,” he says, and smiles at Mike before turning his attention back to his friends. “This is Mike. My roommate.” Mike can’t help the way his heart sinks a little. He doesn’t know what he was expecting -- Tom had given him the blowjob of his life this morning, and once the fog in Mike’s brain cleared, he returned the favor, but it wasn’t like they’d discussed the status of their relationship or anything. 

Still, Mike feels himself wondering if this is all he’ll get, now. Roommates with benefits or something. The furthest thing from what he really wants. 

“Roommate?” the guy Mike recognizes as T.J. says with a knowing grin. “You’re not foolin’ anyone, Willy. Try again.”

Tom pulls Mike a little closer, then shocks him by brushing a kiss to his temple. “I told them I was bringing my new boyfriend,” he says in Mike’s ear. “That ok?”

“Depends,” Mike says, relaxing against him. “Is it me?”

Tom laughs loudly. It’s one of Mike’s favorite sounds. 

“If you’ll have me,” he says, and Mike nods, ignoring the way Andre is beaming at him. 

“Okay,” Tom says to the group. “You got me. This is Mike. My _boyfriend_.”

There’s a series of whoops and hollers from Tom’s friends, and Mike turns his face into Tom’s shoulder, laughing. He feels giddy, and when Tom looks at him with bright eyes, he has to fight the urge to kiss him right there in front of everyone. Tom must see it in his face, because he leans in, his nose tracing the shell of Mike’s ear. “Later,” he says, low enough that only Mike can hear, and it’s so full of promise that Mike’s knees go a little weak. 

He settles in next to Andre, who gives him a congratulatory elbow to the ribs, and waits for later.

**

“Oh my god,” Mike breathes, one arm trapped under Tom and the other flung over his face, his hair wet with sweat.

“Yeah,” Tom says dreamily, turning on his side and nuzzling at Mike’s neck. “Fuck, that was good. Happy birthday to _me_.”

Mike chuckles and catches Tom’s mouth in a kiss, soft and sweet and nothing like the ones they’d been exchanging a few minutes ago. Tom’s mouth had been on him the minute they got through the apartment door, and Mike thinks it’s a wonder they even made it to the bedroom without toppling over one another in their rush to get naked. 

They lie there for awhile, Tom’s hand splayed over Mike’s chest while they catch their breath, until Mike finally asks, “So you told your friends you were bringing your new boyfriend to the bar, huh?” 

Tom sits up a little and scrubs a hand over his face before giving Mike a sheepish smile. “Yeah, uh. Sorry about that.”

“No, it’s fine, I’m not -- I just, y’know. Wondered. If that was before or after we talked this morning.”

“Um,” Tom says. “After, I guess, but I should, uh. I should be honest with you.”

“Uh oh,” Mike says, and he tries to ignore the sudden sense of dread he feels. “That sounds scary.”

“No! No, it’s nothing bad. I just. Uh. Weren’t you wondering, like. Why I was in your room? This morning, I mean.”

The thought really hadn’t even crossed Mike’s mind, if he’s honest. He was too freaked out over the fact that Tom got his hands on the book before Mike was ready to give it to him, but now that he thinks about it -- why _was_ Tom in his room?

“I was gonna ask you something,” Tom says, and Mike looks at him expectantly. “Fine, ok, I was gonna ask you out,” he says quickly, after the silence gets too be too much.

Mike doesn’t even try to keep the smile off his face. 

“And the book, it was just -- on the bed? And I mean, my face was on the cover, of course I was going to look at it.” He leans in and presses his lips to Mike’s jaw. “I’m sorry I ruined your gift.”

“You didn’t,” Mike says, and then, “We’re pretty stupid, huh?”

Tom laughs; it’s warm against Mike’s neck. “Kinda. We could’ve been doing this for awhile now, I bet.”

“Yeah,” Mike agrees, and rolls Tom onto his back, his hands braced on either side of Tom’s ribcage. Tom raises an eyebrow at him, eyes dancing. 

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Tom teases, but when Mike reaches for the camera, he doesn’t complain. 

Mike kisses him, long and lingering, and snaps the photo.


End file.
